


it looks ugly, but it's clean (don't fuss over me)

by swimthewholeriogrande



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Boys In Love, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 22:53:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16649410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimthewholeriogrande/pseuds/swimthewholeriogrande
Summary: Spot loses control and Race is caught in range.





	it looks ugly, but it's clean (don't fuss over me)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Cherry Wine by Hozier

"I won't do it, I won't do it -" 

"Spot, I ain't asking for much, all I wanted was -"

"I said I'm not going! I said to leave me alone right _now_ , Race."

They were fighting, again. Race hated arguing with Spot but both of them were so stubborn they were bound to crack heads, and it was one of those nights. All Race wanted was for Spot to come and spend the night in Manhattan instead of always having to stay in Brooklyn, but he wouldn't budge.

"You don't have to be such an ass all the time!" Race snapped. He had Spot backed unintentionally into a corner, and he could see the tell-tale signs of Spot's temper about to explode, but he was too angry to care.

"I said leave me alone." Spot's eyes were slitted, furious, and there was a strange tension in his muscles that Racetrack didn't recognise. His teeth bared, flashing. "Don't be such a dick about it!"

"Don't be such a _brat _!"__

__The punch, when it came, sent Racetrack spinning. He twisted, tripped over his own feet, felt the skin on his cheek break and bleed; he fell to his back on the ground with a painful thud. The noise it ripped out of him was a scared, yelping cry._ _

__Spot loomed over him, a godlike figure, his clenched fist starting to uncurl as he stared down at Race on the floor. Whatever trigger that word had produced had destroyed his face, his eyes darker than anything as if he was somewhere else, some terrible else. Race's fear started to ebb and rise with panic._ _

__"Aw, Spot," he started to say slowly, "it's Tony -"_ _

__Spot moved faster than Race could track, straddling the boy on the ground in seconds and pinning his wrists. Race thrashed half-heartedly, not wanting to hurt Spot when he was so obviously out of his mind, and Spot bore down with all his weight and knocked the breath out of him._ _

__Spot was snarling, horribly, looking straight through Race into some dark aspect of his past. "You ain't never gonna call me that again," he panted, "you ain't anything to me no more, da, and -"_ _

__"It's not your da!" Race bucked, writhing, wondering where Spot was right now and who this violent creature was. "Spottie, stop it!"_ _

__The hand was on his throat, pressing, crushing, and Race fought in earnest now. "Sp - Spot!" He was going to die, he thought wildly, he was going to be killed by the most important person in the world to him and the last thing he'd see was that person hating him, hurting him. He shut his eyes and croaked, in a last-ditch effort. " _Sean! _"___ _

____Then, quite suddenly, he was waking up on a low bed with the worst headache he'd ever had. Race blinked, struggling to place himself, and saw a blurry figure on the edge of the bed, facing away with his head in his heads._ _ _ _

____He sat up, listing to one side. "Spot?" he rasped, and the other boy turned to him, face tight and hard._ _ _ _

____"Racetrack." Spot's hands stayed on his knees, strangely formal, and his shoulders hunched. "I'll send zomeone round for Kelly. You're going home."_ _ _ _

____"What?" Racetrack struggled up and went to rub his eyes but one of them ached, swollen under his fingers, and he remembered - his aching throat and face, the murder in Spot's eyes. He swallowed reflexively and it burned.____

_____ _

___Spot wouldn't meet his eyes. "I hurt you." he stated flatly. "You need to go."___

____

__Race's mouth went dry. "No," he said, "no, Spot, it was an accident -"_ _

____

__"I coulda killed you -"_ _

__"You were yelling about your da!"_ _

__Spot went still. His face froze and Race pressed on, daring to take the other boy's hand; it was rough and warm and familiar as breathing. "You were having some kinda problem," he said as gently as he could, "because I called you a -" He didn't want to say it again; he sort of hummed and Spot winced. "And I think you didn't know who I was."_ _

__Spot finally looked at him, tortured. "I couldn't see." he said helplessly. "I thought I was - when I was at home, it was -" He shuddered seamlessly through his whole body. "I thought you was dead for a second."_ _

__Race leaned into his shoulder, coughing past the pain in his bruised neck, secure now that Spot wouldn't send him back to Manhattan. "We gotta fix that, Spot. You can't have stuff that bad like that, and not talk to me."__

____

__

__

__Spot's eyes were too bright for anything but tears. "God, Tony, I'm so sorry, I don't know how to..." He trailed off. "If you want to not see me again, that's, it'd make sense -" He was losing his train of thought, lost, falling further away from Race with every word, and wouldn't do at all.__

__"Hey." Race linked their fingers and squeezed hard, a lifeline and a promise. Things were not quite right (the crackle of Spot's uneasiness and the pain in his throat) but he still maintained - "I'll stay."__


End file.
